


Pete The Friendly Ghost

by ThatsWildPatrick



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Creepy kids saying creepy stuff, Fluff, Ghost Pete, Haunted Houses, Haunting, Humor, Like 3 seconds of sad, M/M, Poltergeists, Real Estate Agent Patrick, Swearing, The title is because I have zero creativity forgive me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 06:19:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12575604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatsWildPatrick/pseuds/ThatsWildPatrick
Summary: The moment he stepped through the door, a deep chill ran over him. His hair prickled, goosebumps broke out over his skin, his teeth chattered, and his breath steamed in the air in front of him.The floorboards creaked slowly, as though someone was trailing across them, but then again- nobody but Patrick was therePatrick glared at the lights, but the sound of hissing pulled his gaze away in a second. Everything from cockroaches, to mist, to rot- all of it spread across the walls, growing and shifting as it moved. Patrick jumped back but only curled his lip at the sight. The space under the floorboards started glowing red.A voice, deep and layered with others, rang out, filling the room with its purely demonic sound."G͔̣ͅE̶̻Ṱ ͕̝͈̩͖̥͓O̷̫̳̭U̝T͎̥͔̰̘͍ O̕F ͇̱̤T̶̳H̗̭I͟S̳̩͔ ̻̩͟H̡̹̤̼͓O̪̯̮̖̰U̡͈͓̖S̨͕̤̱̻͉͎͈Ȩ̯͖̩̯̬̲̼ ͏M̶̙̻O̶R̵̖̫̖̰̳̠̻T̯̭̭͝A̡̼͖̫̬̱L."--Patrick has been trying to sell a house for two whole years.





	Pete The Friendly Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> WELCOME, AND HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!
> 
> This is a contribution for Trick or Pete 2017, a collection of Peterick Halloween-themed fics for the holiday.  
> This is all organized by SnitchesAndTalkers, so shoutout to them! This is an awesome idea, and I'm really thrilled to be contributing; Thank you so much!
> 
> So, with that, time to get sp00ki bois and grills, I hope you all enjoy!

 

Patrick adjusted his tie with a firm look at himself in the mirror, brows down, mouth pulled straight, and eyes _determined_.

 

He pressed the tip of his finger to the glass, pointing at his own reflection with a squint. "You're gonna sell that house."

Patrick stuck there for only a few moments, before shaking himself out of it with a clearing cough of his throat.

 

Inhale, exhale- Patrick nodded at himself, trying a confident smile that looked a little half-baked.

 

Patrick paced out of his house, sending the kitchen a forlorn look; Pancakes were ideal, they were always ideal, but Patrick hardly had the time or patience- or skill, to even attempt them. Shame. Maybe he'd learn one day, or, maybe if he got rich enough, he could hire some pancake-making butler. That'd be cool.

 

On his way to the driveway, Patrick kept tugging at his tie nervously, hoping it looked straight and neat, and not totally crooked; He was really going for the 'professional' angle here, he needed to look like he knew what he was doing.

His babyface was already doing him zero favours; The house had been listed for a good few years, and it still hadn't been sold. But, maybe he was giving himself too much of the blame, surely there were bigger reasons for the house not shifting.

  
Leaving his crappy apartment, Patrick shuffled into his equally shitty car and drove the familiar route.

He was used to this routine by now, it was the same every working day; Get ready, drive to the house, and try to convince some nice couple or family to buy it. _Fail_.

 

Leaning forwards in the driver's seat, Patrick ducked his head and stared through the windshield. There it was, as plain and unassuming as ever.

  
Not quite suburbs, not quite slums- It was a happy middle.

Brown bricks, wooden slats, paneled windows, and a lack of driveway, it should've really been easy to sell. It… _should've_.

Patrick pulled up on the sidewalk, twisting his keys until the car fell silent and still. He threw his head back against the headrest with a sigh, letting his eyes fall shut. It was gonna be okay, he was gonna sell this house, it was gonna be fine.

 

Patrick nodded to himself curtly, shoving any fears down into his chest. He reached for the bundle of papers at his side and took a planner from the top. Quickly turning to October, Patrick quickly found the day's date.

 

_29 th of October_

_Grahams, 1:20pm_

 

Patrick glanced down towards the watch on his wrist, _11am_. He had time, plenty of time, actually. Enough time to prepare for the- if he remembered correctly, small family of no more than four.

He glanced out of the car window, Adam's apple bobbing as it found the house. It'd looked so innocent the first day he'd arrived, but now…Well, now, all he saw was a dark cloud, lightning bolts, and the sound of crows squawking menacingly.

 

Okay, maybe that was a little dramatic, but Patrick had tried so many times, it was so tiring, god, he was exhausted.

 

No, no- he could do this. He was gonna pull this off, the Grahams were gonna buy the house, it was gonna be fine. There was totally enough time to negotiate.

With a nod, Patrick slipped out of the car, locked it, and sighed as he stared up at the house. It was time, and it was all gonna work out _perfectly_. He started towards the house. Yeah. This was gonna work.

 

He could do this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The moment he stepped through the door, a deep chill ran over him. His hair prickled, goosebumps broke out over his skin, his teeth chattered, and his breath steamed in the air in front of him.

Patrick glanced around, eyes shifting quickly as the shadows in the corners seemed…darker. The whole house seemed darker, actually; It was like time had sped up, and had taken him straight to the dimness before sunset.

The floorboards creaked slowly, as though someone was trailing across them, but then again- nobody but Patrick was there.

He shook his head, this was okay, it was fine. With a newfound determination, Patrick paced over to the light switch, flicking it on and glancing up as the light bulbs clicked to life.

  
And, as though on cue, they began flickering and spluttering, making everything ten times worse than it'd already been.

Patrick glared at the lights, but the sound of hissing pulled his gaze away in a second. Everything from cockroaches, to mist, to rot- all of it spread across the walls, growing and shifting as it moved. Patrick jumped back but only curled his lip at the sight, and as the space under the floorboards started glowing red, Patrick could only sigh.

  
A voice, deep and layered with others, rang out, filling the room with its purely demonic sound.

 

_**"** **G͔̣ͅE̶̻Ṱ ͕̝͈̩͖̥͓O̷̫̳̭U̝T͎̥͔̰̘͍ O̕F ͇̱̤T̶̳H̗̭I͟S̳̩͔ ̻̩͟H̡̹̤̼͓O̪̯̮̖̰U̡͈͓̖S̨͕̤̱̻͉͎͈Ȩ̯͖̩̯̬̲̼ ͏M̶̙̻O̶R̵̖̫̖̰̳̠̻T̯̭̭͝A̡̼͖̫̬̱L."**_ _ **  
-**_ ****"

 

Patrick gave a long suffering sigh, rubbing his temples with a hand. "Will you chill out, Pete? It's just me."

 

In a second, everything disappeared. The glowing, the cockroaches, the mist, the rot- all of it blanked back into a normal, decent house, and the light flooded back in nicely.

Footsteps creaked down the stairs quickly, and before Patrick knew it, the source of all of his problems was poking his head through the arch between stairs and kitchen.

 

Pete Wentz. Ghost extraordinaire that was solely focused on ruining Patrick's career. And life. He almost looked alive, he seemed pretty solid; From tan skin, to black hair, to tattoos, and to actual clothes, to a cute face- Patrick would've mistaken him for a real life person, if he hadn't known any better.

His grin was bright as he paced forwards, stopping shy of Patrick judging by the unamused look on his face.

 

"Oh, hey dude-"

 

Patrick shook his head, sighing sharply and tossing his bundle of papers and files on the worktop. "Why do you do that _every_ time? Do you know how annoying it is?"

 

"It's just a precaution Trick." Patrick hated how fond he was of the nickname by now.

Pete hopped up onto a counter, only giving an ugly laugh when Patrick glared at him from the corner of his eye. "Can't have a bunch'a mortals coming in here all the time." He barely caught Patrick's cheek in time, pinching it between a thumb and forefinger. Patrick tried a punch at his shoulder, but the ghost only disappeared into thin air.

It only took three seconds before Pete had appeared at his side again, intent on using him as an arm rest. Patrick rolled his eyes, he'd never be rid of him for good apparently; Anytime the so-called 'ghost' disappeared, he'd be back before Patrick could even proclaim victory.

He jerked away from the arm, narrowing his eyes as he shuffled through his files on the counter. "Aren't ghosts supposed to be _invisible_?" Pete only threw his head back with a braying laugh at Patrick's dark mumble, "For the last time, Tricky-"

 

"Don't call me that."

 

"Alright Rick ta life-"

 

"Ugh."

 

Pete clicked his tongue and leant forwards on the counter, splaying over it to catch Patrick's focused gaze. "I'm a _poltergeist_ buddy- it's different from a ghost, you know that."

 

"And is your mission to ruin my life?"

 

"Aw, mean-"

 

"Alright, listen up Casper." Patrick snapped his stare towards Pete, straightening his back and making himself as tall as possible. It was something he'd seen on National Geographic like, once; If you look bigger = you look more intimidating, and right now, he really needed to intimidate this fucking ghost into not being a prick. Just for today. After the house was sold, he could terrorise its owners as much as he wanted to.

 

"I have clients coming over, so you-" He jabbed a finger into Pete's chest, keeping his eyes locked with Pete's. " _Behave_."

 

Pete rolled his eyes and crossed his arms loosely. Patrick squinted, "Pete." The poltergeist whined quietly, but Patrick only glowered. "Pete, I mean it."

Taking one glance at Patrick, Pete gave a long-suffering sigh but nodded. "Fine, fine- I'll be good, whatever." He sniffed and kicked the ground idly, before falling lax with a sigh. "I'll be upstairs," He moved back towards the stairs, stopping with a hand on the banister. "See ya later."

Patrick stifled a sigh and nodded softly, "Bye, Pete."

 

The poltergeist smiled and hopped upstairs, footsteps creaking in his ears, and leaving Patrick alone in the kitchen.

He sighed, and took one look at his watch; _11:10am_. He still had time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Patrick pulled the curtains open with a final sigh, smiling broadly around at the living room.

Okay, it looked decent, and, livable, thankfully.

He glanced down at his watch, _1:15pm_. Five minutes, okay- it was gonna be fine. Pete hadn't been making any noise upstairs, and- maybe, he wouldn't even notice the Grahams arriving!

 

Right?

 

God, Patrick wasn't sure, but he really hoped so. Patrick had been trying to sell this goddamn house for two, whole _years_ \- and there was one, sole reason it wasn't currently being inhabited by a nice couple or a friendly family of five. And no, it wasn't just because Patrick sucked at being a real estate agent.

 

He heard a creak upstairs, and took a real moment to glare at the ceiling.

 

Pete had been intent on ruining every appointment, every open house, and in just foiling every attempt Patrick made to sell the house.

But today, no- today would be different. It had to be. God, please let it-

 

A knock rang through the room, and Patrick jumped harshly, wide eyes locking over on the front door. Okay, okay- it was go time, he could do this.

Inhale, exhale. Patrick walked over to the door, and twisted it open quickly- but not without setting his face with a polite smile.

 

"Hi!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Patrick kept silent as the couple paced around the living room, close and taking their time to speak to each other quietly.

Pete had been blissfully silent, and so far, things weren't going too badly. And if they turned down the house, at least it wouldn't be on account of a haunting. Hopefully.

 

Patrick tried his best to act natural, despite his constant glances towards the ceiling.

The Grahams' kids had insisted on going to scout out their 'new bedrooms', and Patrick, as always, had been too awkward to advise against it as their parents had let them run off.

Pete liked lingering upstairs, especially in the attic, as though he _couldn't_ get any more stereotypical. God, he hoped Pete would have the good sense to not mentally scar those kids.

 

The easy silence was deafening to Patrick, but the couple seemed just fine as they paced around, and Patrick hoped the slowly growing smiles were a good sign.

If Patrick could just sell this house…Fuck, it'd solve around 70% of his problems right about now. He just hoped, and prayed, and- begged ever single deity ever thought up by mankind that Pete would _just_ -

 

"We uh…" Mr. Grahams turned towards him first, the smile on his face wide as he kept his eyes scanning around the room. He turned to Patrick with a nod and a shared smile with his wife. "I'm gonna be frank with you here, we like it."

Patrick could held his breathy, and all parts _relieved_ sigh. Ohthankgod- "That's uh- that's really great to hear, it's uh-"

 

Quick footsteps killed the conversation in a mere second. The couple glanced over their shoulders, and Patrick only glanced upwards to spot their two, young children bouncing towards them.

They hopped down the stairs, and soon enough, they'd taken to curiously poking around the living room.

There was a lump in Patrick's throat, formed of nothing but nerves and tension. The kids seemed…okay. They weren't screaming, or crying, or anything like that, so…maybe Pete _hadn't_ been an asshole. Maybe Patrick was actually gonna sell the house. Maybe he'd finally be rid of it- oh god, it'd be so good to finally-

 

"Daddy, I want to cut your head off and carry it around so I can see your face whenever I want."

 

Well shit.

 

Their parents froze, understandably, and Patrick could only pray that this was just a weird, recurring thing their son did. And that it _wasn't_ a bright idea suggested by the fucking poltergeist upstairs-

 

"Wha- Uh- What, why would you-" Their mom struggled through the words, taking over from her paralysed husband who only stared at the boy nervously. "Sweetheart, why would you say that? That's not very nice, you need to apologize."

Their daughter, slightly older and significantly less bouncy, gave the woman a wide-eyed look. "Sorry mommy, but- we love you too, so when you die we're gonna have _you_ stuffed!"

 

This day was just terrific.

 

The couple seemed over the wave of shock at this point, and had only taken to glancing at each other with wide, nervous eyes and mouths parted in shock. Their dad made a try at breaking the stuttered, choked silence again. "Honey- where did you hear that?"

The kids bounced on their heels and grinned at each other, their giggles indicating what Patrick was already assuming.

 

"The man in the wall said it'd be a good idea!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Bye."

  
Patrick could only supply the weak word as the family practically sped towards the car, the parents ushering their children into their seats in pure panic.

The car shot away like a bolt, and Patrick swore he could hear tires squeaking as he shut the door.

Well, apparently people in real life weren't as stupid as they were in horror movies. And it turns out they actually _listened_ to their kids doing creepy bullshit and didn't just play it off as 'imagination'.

 

Pity.

 

He sighed heavily and tipped his forehead into the wood, hitting it with aborted jerks. He was gonna resuscitate Pete, then kill him again.

Why him? Seriously, why did he get charged with the haunted house? Why wasn't the ghost just some Amityville Horror-type demon? Why did it have a stupid fucking smirk and a stupid fucking face-

 

Wait.

 

There was a ghost here.

 

Well, yeah- that was a given, but now that Patrick really thought about it, there was a _ghost_ here.

An actual, active ghost that could fucking materialize and shit- Oh god. This was his USP. His unique selling point here, was a poltergeist.

He could sell this house to some crazy person obsessed with the paranormal, he could sell it to some reality TV show- he didn't give a fuck, he could actually sell it. He just needed to find the right kind of people. Holy shit, he was so dumb- How hadn't he thought of this earlier?

 

Patrick jolted away from the door with a start, stalking towards the kitchen with purpose.  
  
He'd been approaching this all wrong, trying to sell this as what is was- a decent, well-sized family house, was all wrong.

Patrick fished up his bundle of files and pulled his phone out of his pocket. This was it, he just had to advertise it as haunted and eventually, some freak would want it, right?

 

Patrick wasn't sure, but hey there's a market for everything…and besides, he was desperate at this point. He had to try something different, what he'd been doing so far had gotten him nowhere.

His eyes flicked over his phone's screen quickly, he just needed to find someone who wanted a haunted house, not that hard. Hopefully.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It only took him five minutes before he hit the weird side of things.

There were a few different requests for types of houses, some wanted homes were murders had taken place, some wanted places infested with rodents, and some even wanted places were ritualistic sacrifices had happened. Needless to say, Patrick wasn't the most comfortable guy in the world right now.

No- he shook his head and powered through, brow furrowing and eyes narrowing as he searched for the specific requests he could _actually_ fulfill.

Sure, he could draw a pentagram in the basement and pretend there was a demon, but…Well, actually, that might work-

 

"Hey Tricky."

 

Patrick jumped, snapping around to find Pete leaning on thin air and smiling at him innocently. Shock melted from Patrick's face in a mere second, and with only a huff, he turned back to his screen and hunched his shoulders.

 

"Aw, come on lunchbox- talk to me-"

 

"" _I want to cut your head off so I can see your face whenever I want_ '?" Patrick basically growled, but Pete only stifled annoying giggling with a broad, tight smile. "' _W_ _hen you die_ _we're_ _go_ _nna_ _have you stuffed_ '?"  
Patrick stood up straight, eyes firm and tilted upwards to be level with Pete's. "Pete- really? Was that necessary? I thought you said you were gonna behave, you son of a-"

 

"Oh come on, you gotta admit that was funny."

 

Patrick said nothing, and glared. Pete wouldn't be laughing soon, Patrick would get his revenge and he'd sell this fucking house.

He scrambled his files into his hands, gave Pete one final glare, and stomped out of the house, making a beeline for his car- since Pete couldn't follow him outside, and ignoring every single one of Pete's whines and complaints.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"So, just uh…be quiet, alright?"

 

Patrick felt insane.

 

Like, actually demented, as he told the group of three to be silent in the 'ghost house'.

 

They were amateur, aspiring ghost hunters, or, three dumb barely-adult kids who wanted to prove ghosts were real. To the world, or to themselves, Patrick wasn't sure.  
_He_ knew ghosts were real now, whereas once he would've rolled his eyes, scoffed, or just plain shrugged any signs off- Pete had really done a number on what he knew was real.

 

Pete was a contradiction, plain and simple. A contradiction to everything he was sure he knew.

That first day he'd stepped into this house, he'd been expecting nothing but an empty building that needed to be marketed. He really hadn't been expecting a guy to walk through the wall and scare the shit out of him. Safe to say, he'd passed out, and when he finally awoke, Pete had been sitting next to him, a glass of water in hand as he smiled apologetically.

Patrick had been pleasantly surprised at first, Pete had _actually_ been _friendly_. He'd helped Patrick out with moving boxes, and cleaning, and repairing-

 

And then the first clients had arrived.

 

It'd been a single mother, flanked by three excitable children that had found a penchant for bolting around the house as wildly as possible- while their exhausted mom tried to reign them in.

Pete had worked his magic, and the kids had returned screaming about the 'shadow man' and that had been that; Much like the Grahams, the woman had taken her kids and had left in a hurry, leaving Patrick to deal with the fallout that was purely Pete Wentz.

Pete had been quiet as Patrick had berated him, and since then, every single time Patrick brought potential customers over- Pete made a point of scaring them half to death and chasing them out.

 

Patrick just didn't understand _why_ ; Pete had been so…nice, at first, but _now_ he was just such a-

 

"Does the ghost get scared?" The girl, sporting a nose ring and a jacket covered in 'I want to believe' patches ( _Wow_ , Patrick would've _never_ guessed she like paranormal stuff) glanced towards him as they stepped through the door.

"I uh…No, it just- it's more active when people don't know it's there." Patrick just making stuff up at this point, but it was true; Pete tended to go after the most wholesome, innocent, and unassuming victims he could.

And while this group firmly landed between 'pretentious', 'ghost hunters', 'artists' and stoners', Patrick knew Pete wouldn't pass up an opportunity to scare them if he could.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They'd been pacing around upstairs for a good three minutes when Patrick's patience was rewarded.

Sure, he'd been horrifically nervous for those three, droning minutes; Shit, what if it'd all been a hallucination? What if these people just thought he was crazy and wanted to watch him rave about 'ghosts'? What if they put him on YouTube? Oh fuck, _the shame_.

Those particular thoughts hadn't let him be for those three, silent minutes, until a loud crash from one of the bedrooms had made the group yelp.

 

"Whatwasthat?" The tallest guy whimpered, eyes suddenly wide and panicky, but the shorter only rolled his eyes. "Uh- probably the ghost, Mack."

Patrick let them take the lead, the girl and 'Mack', soldiering after the short, braver member. He pushed the door open with a burst of confidence, which only inflated when the room was…fine.

 

No pushed furniture, no broken windows- no nothing.

 

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger as he turned to Patrick. "You do know we actually want a _haunted_ place, right?"

Ranting about the fucking poltergeist that had been ruining his entire life for like, a month, seemed a little excessive, so instead, Patrick kept his cool, and smiled. "This place is haunted. Trust me."

 

The shorter guy folded his arms with a breathy scoff, and pushed out of the room. Patrick heard a few doors opening and closing in the distance. That was a good sign, at least he hadn't just marched out.

He tried a glance at the remaining two, both looking a good deal more nervous than they had before. Patrick suspected this idea was the shorter guy's, and he also suspected his two friends weren't ecstatic about it.

Whatever, he just hoped Pete would slip up and do something to scare them into wanting the house. He just needed to show off that slither of proof that would leave them wanting more, and Patrick knew Pete was capable of that. _Very_ capable, if his impressive string of victims- or _Patrick's_ _customers_ , were any indication.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"FUCK-"

The scream was high and loud, and followed by desperate, thudding footsteps.

The shorter guy burst into the kitchen, eyes landing on Patrick and his friends; The former bemused, the latter pale and wide-eyed.

 

There was a collection of noticeable handprints all over the guy's face, and there was even one gripped around his neck. The girl tried her words first, keeping her voice cautious and steady- despite her trembling hands. "Jay, are you…are you okay?"

 

Jay's eyes were blank as he strode towards Patrick with purpose, not even sparing his friends a glance. He stopped a mere inch from Patrick, and let his eyes bore into his for a moment, before he spoke in a deadly serious, low, and confident voice.

 

"How much?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Patrick could help but grin as he looked around at the house for the last time. Finally, god- this had been a long time coming, and he couldn't believe he'd finally gone and done it.

He'd sold it, he'd actually sold it.

 

...Sure, he'd sold it to crazy people, but he'd still _sold_ it, and that's what mattered.

 

Pulling his files close to his chest, Patrick nodded to himself and pulled the house keys from his pocket. He needed to get back to the agency and give these in, but Patrick had always been one for melancholics.

He'd had some good times here, and some really awful times too, sure, but he'd always been bad at letting things go.

 

No matter how small or how big it was, when he lost something, it made a void settle in the pit of his stomach.

It'd eat away at him, make him feel awful every time he cast his mind back to whatever it was he'd lost. And the best part? It would never leave him alone. Not until he recovered what he'd lost, or until he successfully forgot it, but Patrick was pretty sure he couldn't forget it this time.

 

Pete was…an asshole. Plain and simple. A poltergeist that had made his job unnecessarily harder over the few years he'd been trying to sell this place, but that didn't mean he wouldn't feel that black hole of loss in his stomach when he left.

It wasn't like he could come back and visit every weekend- and, it wasn't like he _wanted_ to, _anyway_...Patrick had never been the best liar.

 

Patrick shook his head with a sigh as he moved towards the door, trailing through the empty kitchen, the bare living room, and finally stopping at the door.

He wrestled his keys into the lock, struggling to slot it into the hole through a full hands and a horrible lack of hand-eye coordination. "Goddammit- come on, just-"

 

"Patrick?"

 

The voice was high and sad. Patrick ignored the twinge of guilt in his chest as he turned, eyes flicking towards Pete.

 

Oh no. He looked miserable.

 

Fuck, Patrick was bad at this whole, 'abandonment' thing. Seriously, Pete looked like a kicked puppy, this was no doubt the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.

 

Pete's bottom lip was twitching occasionally, as though he was trying to hold back a full pout, but his eyes had no problem in being wide and shiny.

Patrick swallowed thin air and tried a smile, doing his best to mask guilt behind politeness. "Yeah, Pete?"

Pete's eyes dropped to the ground, and he took to idly kicking at the wood, scuffing the toe of his sneaker into it. "…You're leaving, aren't you?"

Patrick laughed. Nervously. "Don't be- I leave every day, you know that." Pete's jaw writhed under his skin, and he shook his head, trying a timid glance upwards. "Not what I meant."

 

Shit.

 

Patrick smiled softly, letting himself sigh and letting his shoulders fall. "Pete I- Look, I sold the house, there's nothing I can do."

Pete nodded, eyes falling again. "Oh."

 

Well, Patrick felt like a monster.

 

"I'm sorry Pete-"

"No, I uh- I'm sorry for scaring your clients away, before." Pete tried a small smile, and quickly shrugged, averting his eyes again. "I just-" He sighed deeply. "I thought _you_ were moving in, and then you weren't, and then _those_ people were gonna move in, and I wasn't gonna see you again- so I- I didn't want you to go, I guess, but whatever, it was dumb."

 

Pete had wanted him to stay.

 

He'd traumatized a good amount of people, because he didn't want Patrick to leave.

 

That was both adorable and terrifying, but Patrick pushed it to the back of his mind and smiled again. "It's okay. Just- just try and be nice to the owners, alright?"

Pete chuckled, but it felt forced; The smile didn't reach his eyes, and his shoulders were still too lax. "Hey, you know me- best behaviour."

 

Patrick tried a laugh too, but it sounded even faker than Pete's had. Shit, this felt like breaking up or something, it was weird, and logically, Patrick shouldn't have felt guilty, but…he did.  
He nodded to himself subtly, before motioning back at the door with a hand. "I uh- I gotta go-"

Pete's mouth parted and he nodded quickly, "Oh! Yeah, sorry- don't let me keep you, just-" Patrick nodded and turned, struggling with the lock for a second, before the key slipped in neatly.

 

He turned the handle, trying to ignore the stare on his back, before-

 

"Patrick wait."

 

He turned, finding a parted mouth and wide pleading eyes. Oh god, Patrick already felt so bad, this was only gonna make it worse-

 

"Can I have a hug?"

 

Patrick was gonna cry. He nodded, and Pete was on him in an instant, arms tight around him and hands curled into his blazer.

With a sigh, Patrick dropped his face into Pete's shoulder. Fuck, now that he was faced with the prospect of leaving, for good…it felt bad. Really bad.

 

Coming here, seeing Pete, talking to him- all of it had been his routine for years, and now…that was all coming to an abrupt end. No weaning period, no chance to get unattached- just an abrupt cut away.

Well, there was nothing for it now. The house was sold, and the owners would be living in these halls in mere days.

 

Pete finally pulled away with an awkward chuckle and a sniff. "I'm uh- I'm gonna miss you, Trick." Patrick nodded, trying a smile but not quite being able to bring himself to say the words back, so instead, he settled for a nice, healthy: "Likewise, Pete."

 

Pete chuckled again and nodded, letting his gaze drop as Patrick turned back to the door, this time, wasting no time in opening the door and pacing through.

Long goodbyes only made everything 100x harder, and Patrick did _not_ want to show up back at the house in three weeks, crying his eyes out and begging to talk to the 'ghost'.

 

He paced over to his car quickly, but tried to keep his steps in check; He wasn't trying to take off running here either.

Patrick glanced back towards the window, and it was no surprise when he spotted Pete, staring out at his car forlornly.

 

He tried to pretend he didn't see the poltergeist, and quickly dove into his car, clicking his seat belt taut, and slotting his keys into the ignition. The car jolted to life easily, just as Patrick leant to glance back at the house through the closed car window.

 

Pete was gone.

 

Huh, that was weird. He hadn't really been expecting that, no- he'd really been expecting Pete to do a whole theatrical, 'hand-on-the-glass' stare as he drove away, but…he was gone.

Patrick shook his head; Never mind, that was better, anyway, he didn't want to draw this out.

 

So, with definitely absolutely no thoughts about Pete in his head, Patrick pulled off the curb, and started the journey home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Patrick couldn't sleep, of course he couldn't.

 

He slammed his head into the cold side of the pillow for what felt like the hundredth time that night, groaning into it as he begged his mind to just shut up and cut to black- y'know, the way it was _supposed_ to.

Five minutes of lying perfectly still, and Patrick held back a frustrated sob as nothing but more thoughts came, blocking out any semblance of sleep he might've actually-

 

_BANG_.

 

Patrick shot up in his bed, eyes wide and mouth parted as a shiver trembled over his spine. Was there someone in the house? Oh fuck, had someone broken in?

No- no, he was probably just overreacting, nobody had broken in, it was probably fine-

 

_CRASH_.

 

It was okay, it was totally fine- "Fuck." Patrick hissed to himself as he shrugged out of bed, vainly looking around the room for anything he could use to defend himself.

Shit, who was he kidding? He didn't own a baseball bat, Patrick didn't play _sports_ \- and guns were completely out of the question.

 

He glanced back towards the door, urging himself to keep his breathing steady as he crept forwards, being careful with his footsteps.

Okay, he just needed to be quiet enough to go see what was going on, he could do that, he could totally do that.

Patrick reached the door, carefully opening it and poking his head through the gap, scanning the outside with wide eyes.

 

Living in a one-storey house really had its advantages, and now was definitely one of those times.

The living room looked empty enough as Patrick stepped out of his bedroom, glancing around skittishly and keeping his movements light.

 

 

He slunk over to the kitchen, hoping to either find the source, or a knife. Just in case.

Patrick stopped at the wooden door, staring at the dull brown for a second before lacing his hand around the door knob. He inhaled, he exhaled, and he opened it.

There, inexplicably stood at the counter, surrounded by a bag of flour, sugar, and by an egg carton, was-

 

" _Pete_?"

 

Pete turned with a jump, but the moment his eyes landed on Patrick, his face split into a grin. "H-Hey- Happy Halloween, Trick!"

Pete was covered with flour, from head to toe, and the kitchen counters looked similarly wrecked. Patrick's mouth was hanging open as he shook his head, completely riddled with shock as he stared at the inexplicable sight.

 

"Pete- How- Why are you here?"

 

Pete's smile turned nervous, but he kept his nerve well enough to give a coherent reply. "Don't freak out-"

 

"Pete."

 

"But uh…" Pete chuckled nervously, eyes shifting from side to side. "I might be- may be- probably, definitely haunting you. Or, maybe, probably, might be haunting your phone."

 

Patrick inhaled. Patrick exhaled. And Patrick tried to refrain from swinging at Pete. "You." He lowered his eyes, but kept them steady. "Are haunting, _my phone_?"

Pete looked tense, as though he couldn't predict what the hell Patrick was gonna do, but he nodded shakily. "Yeah." Patrick gave a shaky, silent exhale, and Pete grimaced instantly. "Are you mad? I mean- I tried to make you pancakes, to like, soften the blow, but-"

 

Patrick was pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. "You destroyed my kitchen to ' _soften the blow_ '?"

Pete chuckled nervously, but only moved towards Patrick with an apologetic smile. "I'll clean it up- just uh- go back to bed." Patrick groaned and shook his head roughly, "No- no, why the hell-"

"Trick." Pete smiled softly, eyes matching the beam. "Go to bed."

 

Patrick didn't know why he listened. He nodded sleepily and turned, shuffling out of the wrecked kitchen and leaving Pete to deal with the fallout of his attempt at pancakes-

He glanced over his shoulder, squinting over at Pete who was sliding sticky eggshells into the trash. "Are you ever gonna learn to make pancakes?

Pete turned to stare with wide eyes, but he quickly grinned fully, eyes crinkling at their corners as he nodded. "I'll do my best, Rick."

Good. Pancakes were delicious. Patrick hated making them. A pancake-making ghost would definitely lift his spirits right about now.

He turned back to the door, but as the sounds of Pete wrestling the bag of flour shut filled his ears, Patrick glanced back again. "Are you gonna pay rent?"

 

Pete only grinned.

 

"Not a chance."

 

Patrick rolled his eyes, but his exhaustion made him forget about hiding his grin. " _Fantastic_ , looking forward to having you here."

"I'll be the best tenant you've ever had!" Pete proclaimed with a beam, only coaxing a sorrowed laugh from Patrick.

 

The grin faltered a little, but it quickly fired back up as Pete placed the bag of flour down on the counter, and he edged towards Patrick quickly, but cautiously. He stopped a mere inch away, face painted in a wide grin.

Leaning down to close the space, Pete lay a gentle peck on Patrick's cheek. "G'night Trick." Patrick blinked blearily, but smiled softly and nodded deeply. "See ya, Pete."

 

Patrick turned with a yawn and shuffled back to his room, sleepiness flooding him once again as the threat had proved to be fake- or rather, non-existent.

Burying himself in the blankets, Patrick was almost teetering on the edge of sleep as he rolled onto his back. His eyes fluttered open weakly, to see-  
  
"Jesus-" Patrick jolted awake again, eyes wide up at the ceiling, where Pete nonchalantly lay. Fuck ghosts. fuck ghosts who disobeyed the laws of physics, they sucked.

 

Pete only gave an ugly laugh. "Look dude, I'm like that meth baby from Trainspotting-"

"Pete- get the fuck down from there. Shit, almost gave me a heart attack-" Pete gracelessly thumped down from the ceiling into the bed beside Patrick, shuffling onto his side to grin at him.

Patrick groaned and shook his head, trying his best to calm his thudding heart and to fall asleep again. "Why- God, just why-"

 

"Well, it wasn't like you had a guest room. Like, where was I _supposed_ to sleep?"

 

Patrick turned to squint at Pete, "You're a ghost-"

 

"Poltergeist."

 

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, "Whatever- you don't need sleep, you're a ghost." Pete clicked his tongue and only rubbed his cheek against a free pillow. "Just because I don't need to doesn't mean I don't."

 

Patrick sighed. _Heavily_. But Pete only beamed again, and insisted on throwing an arm over Patrick's waist, burrowing his face into his shoulder.

Pete chuckled, and pressed another peck to his cheek. "Looks like you're stuck with me now." Patrick couldn't help the grin that blossomed across his face, and he couldn't bring himself to mind. "Looks like those guys I sold the house to don't have a ghost after all."

Pete snorted a laugh and only rubbed his cheek with Patrick's.

 

"Suckers."

 

Patrick nudged him with his elbow, despite the tiny smile playing at the corners of his lips. "That's mean."

Pete only hummed and squeezed Patrick closer. "Look on the bright side, this is the spookiest Halloween you've ever had." Pete grinned into his shoulder. "Getting haunted is the most festive thing you can do." Patrick sighed through a smile.

 

Goddammit.

 

He was right.

 

 


End file.
